


The Miserable(s) Month 2020

by WritingRevolutionary



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Adoption, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bigotry & Prejudice, Breaking Up & Making Up, Canon Era, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, First Dates, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, I'm Sorry, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kid Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Minor Violence, Multi, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Past Abuse, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Polyamory, Post-Barricade, Pre-Barricade, Recovery, Sexual Content, Smoking, Tongue Piercings, this is les mis and the thenardiers are dicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 15,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26750227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingRevolutionary/pseuds/WritingRevolutionary
Summary: A series of one shots based on the prompts for The Miserable(s) Month, 2020. Various pairings, some couple fics, some general with different members of les amis. Mostly nice and cute and fluffy, the depressing looking tags are basically just for couple of fics and there's nothing explicit, it's all just reference to character's pasts
Relationships: Bahorel/Feuilly (Les Misérables), Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Courfeyrac/Jean Prouvaire, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta
Comments: 34
Kudos: 61





	1. Last

“Will we be the last of our kind do you think?” Enjolras asked, turning to Combeferre as they sat up on watch, behind the barricade.

“What do you mean?” Combeferre replied.

“I mean, after this, when we’re dead and gone, do you think anyone else will take up the fight?”

“Will the people rise up? I hope so Enj, but can we really count on…?”

“Not just the people here and now Combeferre”, Enjolras interrupted, “not just the people tomorrow, but the day after tomorrow, and the day after that long into the future. Do you think there will always be people like us, who will stand up and fight against their unjust leaders, their oppressors?”

“There have been people doing that for generations Enj. Hundreds and hundreds of years. I’d like to believe there will be people who will come after us, after this fight, and keep on doing it”.

“Really? I don’t”.

“Why not?” Combeferre asked, shocked.

“Because that will mean things still aren’t equal. And that we’ll have failed. I’d like this to be the last fight. For this to be the one that finally makes the change. For good. For always. So that no-one else has to take it up afterwards. So that they can just live, in a bright, new tomorrow”.

“I don’t know Enj. It’s a wonderful idea, truly, but somehow I think there will always be new things worth fighting for. And the people will fight for them. I don’t think we’ll be the last”.

“Well”, said Enjolras, taking a swig from a wine bottle before passing it to Combeferre, “’it will be our last fight for sure”.

“Here’s to the last fight then. We’ll make it count. For the future”.


	2. Scorch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Enjoltaire reincarnation AU, a little sad/angsty with a fluffy ending

“Shit!” Grantaire muttered, as he lifted the iron and realised he’d scorched his shirt. He’d been humming along to music and hadn’t really been paying attention. He didn’t really want to go to this event, but if he was going to go he was probably going to need a smart shirt that wasn’t burnt. He picked the shirt up off the ironing board and the smell hit him, which was the worst part. 

Because it was a smell that brought him back to another time, another place, several lifetimes ago now, where all his friends were dying. A few things brought him back there, in different ways, but this brought him back to the smell of bullet holes, scorching holes in clothing, and in flesh. He sat down heavily on the sofa, breathing deeply, tears beginning to fall. It wasn’t long before Enjolras came into the living room, dressed and ready to go. 

“You finish your shirt love?” Grantaire looked up at him, eyes damp and red-rimmed. 

“Sorry”, he began, “I just, it…um”, he gestured vaguely towards the iron and Enjolras came over, a look of concern on his face. As soon as he saw the shirt he realised what must have happened. He quickly moved to turn off the iron, grabbed the blanket from the back of the sofa and wrapped it round Grantaire and himself, shifting to pull Grantaire into his side and hold him close.

“You don’t have to be sorry love, I get it. But I’m here, with you, and everyone else is too. We always find each other again in the end. Every time. We always will. I promise ‘Taire, I will always find you”.

“Your work thing…” Grantaire started in a small voice, “I need a shirt”.

“We’re not going”, Enjolras replied firmly. Grantaire looked at him in slight disbelief. 

“Well”, Enjolras explained, “I don’t exactly want to go, we’re not obligated, and you’re more important and you’re feeling crap, so it’s my job to make you feel better. We’re ordering pizza and watching The Princess Bride. No arguments”. Grantaire felt Enjolras grin into his hairline, and he offered a small smile in return.

“Oh”, he said gratefully, “Thank you”.

“Not a problem. Now, am I allowed to change into something more comfy yet, or does someone need more cuddles first?”

“Cuddles”, Grantaire replied, without hesitation.

“Your wish is my command”. Grantaire cuddled closer.

“I love you”.

“I love you too”, replied Enjolras. It had taken them a few lifetimes to get to this place, but they knew that from now on, this would always be where they ended up.


	3. Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan has a bad day and Courfeyrac is there to comfort him

Courfeyrac came bounding into his apartment as he usually did after work. He was shattered, but by God would he keep going long enough to eat some food before he could cuddle up with Jehan and respectably fall asleep while watching Netflix. In order to keep going that day his song of choice was ‘As long as he needs me’ from Oliver!, which he began singing as soon as the door to the apartment was closed. But he’d only got as far as “As long as he…” before he realised how quiet the apartment was. Too quiet. He’d stopped singing abruptly, and now the silence was deafening.

“Jehan?” he called cautiously. He put his bag down, slipped his shoes off, and wandered over to their bedroom. He was late, sure, but that was his schedule. He knew Jehan would have eaten and would be in their pyjamas, but usually they’d be on the sofa with some food, waiting to have a catch up before they needed to go to bed to be ready for work the next day. It was their routine. Tonight though, Courfeyrac found Jehan already in bed.

In the dark room he could just make out a round shape, covered with the duvet, in the centre of the bed. Courfeyrac’s blood ran cold. If Jehan was curled up like that, something was wrong. Usually they were relaxed, and spread out so far that there was barely any room for Courfeyrac at all.

“Love…I’m coming over okay…?” There was no response. Courfeyrac slowly moved towards the bed and peeled away the duvet. And there was Jehan, arms tightly ‘round their knees, chin tucked into their chest, with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Courfeyrac crawled beside them to spoon them as best he could, given that they were lying almost face down on the bed, and pulled the duvet over both of them so they were cocooned together in the darkness.

“You okay to tell me what’s wrong yet?” Courfeyrac knew that Jehan liked to work things through in their head before sharing with anyone what had actually happened, which could be difficult for Courfeyrac, seeing Jehan so upset and just wanting to know what the problem was so that he could help, but over the years he’d learned exactly what to do to help Jehan in the way that worked best for them. So when Jehan shook their head, Courfeyrac just nodded silently.

“We’ll just lie here then, and I’ll hold you until you’re ready, or until you fall asleep. Whichever comes first. I don’t mind. I love you, and I’ll always be here for you. I promise”, and he began to press soft kisses to Jehan’s neck, and cheeks, and forehead, whilst he cuddled them tightly in the dark, and the quiet, which Jehan found so comforting.


	4. Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta go for a day out by the seaside with their friends

It was a glorious day, and Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta were heading to the beach, along with the rest of their friends. The others were mainly bringing food and soft drinks between them, but ‘Chetta had promised to bring the alcohol, so she was retrieving a couple of bottles of wine and a box of beer that she’d bought for the occasion from the fridge, and transferring them to a cool bag. She decided to wrap up some leftover homemade cookies as well, for good measure. Joly was, as usual when they went out for trips with their friends, checking that everything in the first aid kit was there, and in date. Bossuet was applying endless layers of sun cream, hoping that this time he might get lucky and not burn. He knew, however, that this was unlikely. ‘Chetta had already applied her sun cream and was back in the t-shirt she slept in so she could hold off putting on her swimming costume until the last minute.

“Ok boys, I need to be, then I’m getting dressed and then I’m ready to go”.

“She emerged from their bedroom a few minutes later in a swimming costume and flip-flops, with a long, flowing skirt. She was greeted with approving whistles. She laughed.

“Not so bad yourselves”. She kissed them both, grabbed their hands, and dragged them out of the door.

It wasn’t long before she was sitting on a picnic blanket, chatting animatedly to Eponine and Grantaire, while her boys had been ambushed by Courfeyrac into taking part in a volleyball game. Joly was keeping score whilst Bossuet and Combeferre took on Enjolras and Courfeyrac. Eventually though, the sea began to call them. Eponine and Grantaire ran in first, screaming dramatically at the initial contact with the cold water. Once again, ‘Chetta laughed, grabbed her boys’ hands and dragged them into the water. 

It was later by then, and the beach quieter, so the large group of young people began to grab the attention of those who were now coming onto the beach hoping for a quiet, early evening walk along the shoreline. But with their screams, and splashes, and hoots of laughter, they were blissfully unaware. They threw the volleyball around in the water, they climbed on each other’s shoulders, couples and throuples kissed. ‘Chetta noticed a slight side-eyed glance of horror and confusion from a stranger as she came up behind Joly and Bossuet kissing the water to put her arms around Joly, as he turned and kissed her, before Bossuet leant over him to kiss her too. But she didn’t care. She was in the ocean, surrounded by her friends, and it felt as though together they could drown out any negativity they faced through their smiles, and their laughter, and their joy, and their love.


	5. Metallic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire gets a new piercing, and Enjolras really likes it

Grantaire walked into the Musian slightly later than everyone else. The others were already seated around a table, cups of coffee in their hands, deep in conversation. Grantaire grabbed a free chair from another table and manoeuvred it between Enjolras and Marius, where he sat down. Enjolras turned to him to give him a smile and a chaste kiss.

“You’re not having a drink?” he asked, noticing that Grantaire was currently without his usual black coffee.

“Not right now thanks, I’m alright”.

“Okay”, Enjolras said, absentmindedly, before turning back to the conversation. It was a while later before Enjolras noticed something was different. Bahorel had made a joke at Enjolras’ expense that had Grantaire laughing out loud. Enjolras had turned to mock-glare at him, when he noticed a glinting of something metallic.

“Wait, open your mouth”.

“Babe, we’re in public, have some decorum”, Grantaire joked in a dramatic voice, a hand covering his chest. Enjolras just raised his eyebrows.

“I’m serious! Did you get a new piercing?”

“Maybe”, Grantaire replied, somewhat ruefully. “Why? Are you mad?”

“What? No? Why would I be mad? It’s your body, not mine. Besides, I like your piercings. I was just surprised. You never mentioned wanting any more. Let’s have a look”. Grantaire stuck out his tongue briefly, before retracting it again.

“I just thought that because of where it is you might not be the biggest fan of it. Plus, I know your opinion on impulse decisions”, he grinned.

“Ah, so that’s why I hadn’t heard about it. But no, I like it, it looks good”. He leant in to kiss Grantaire again. When he tried to make the kiss deeper though, Grantaire pulled away.

“Sorry, none of that for a few days. Gotta take care of the piercing”. Enjolras frowned, disappointed.

“I take it back”, he said, sarcastically, “I hate it”. The others began to laugh, and the conversation turned to other things, but Enjolras leaned into Grantaire and continued, in a whisper, “In all seriousness though, it’s super hot, and you’re already super hot, so I’m dying and am just mad I can’t make out with you right now”. Grantaire fully beamed at that.

“Should’ve got this a lot sooner then, huh?”

“Definitely”. Enjolras started placing kisses on his neck, and bit down on the skin there.

“Enj”, Grantaire laughed, with a warning tone, pushing him away.

“What, so we can’t kiss with tongues, we can do other stuff though, right? I mean, if you want to?”

“That is true…” Grantaire pondered a moment and decided that their friends could do without them for a little while. He grabbed Enjolras’ hand smugly, they made their goodbyes, and they left for home, being far less subtle than they thought they were being. 

On their way out, Grantaire sent a quick text to Courfeyrac:

Ur a genius. I take it all back, how did you know

He didn’t bother waiting for a reply, but one appeared almost immediately after he’d put his phone away:

Best friends prerogative. Ur welcome. Go get it short stack


	6. Riches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little story of Jehan and the plants all their freinds have given them over the years

Riches come in many shapes and forms. Money, jewels, family, friends. For Jehan, they came in the shape of plants. For they were givers of life, and givers of joy. And their friends contributed to their collection so often, that they saw them among the leaves and petals.

There were carnations from Combeferre, "for Oscar Wilde and the gays", he had explained. "And for revolution", added Enjolras.

Red roses from Courfeyrac, "so you can live out your Morticia Addams fantasy! Plus, you're a poet, and they're romantic".

Iris' from Musichetta, "because women rock".

Foxgloves from Enjolras, "because they're poisonous and bees loved them. It seemed very you".

Snap dragon from Eponine, "because the seed pods look like skulls, it's awesome!"

A venus fly trap from Bahorel: "Do I even need to explain?"

Hyacinths from Cosette, "because they smell divine, and y'know, gay Greek mythology".

Lavender from Joly: "I know you have difficulty sleeping and this will really help, I promise".

Heather from Bossuet because "It's lucky!"

Naked-man orchids from Grantaire because "they're like little dudes with their dicks out, it's hilarious".

Sunflowers from Feuilly "to make you smile whenever you need it".

And a cactus from Marius: "It'll never die! Pretty much anyway. I don't think anyone could kill one of these if they tried, so you know it'll always be there for you".

Over the years Jehan had grown quite a collection. They could sit for hours and watch the little world they had created in their garden, the plants attracting bees, and birds and hedgehogs drawn in by the shelter provided by the leaves and the food Jehan left out for al his visitors. In their garden they felt completely at peace, feeling that they were doing something good for the world, and that they were living among all the riches of the earth. And for Jehan, that was enough. Here, they were among friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for reference, the carnation comments are because green carnations became an emblem of Oscar Wilde and his followers after they wore green carnations to the opening of Wilde's play, Lady Windemere's fan, and because of the carnation revolution, where carnations were put into the muzzles of rifles
> 
> The roses bit is because of the iconic scene in Addams Family of Morticia cutting the heads off red roses
> 
> The hyacinth comment is because of the myth of Apollo turning his bf Hyacinth into a flower after accidentally hitting him with a discus so he doesn't die - there are a couple variations but the flower bit is the same
> 
> The iris comment is because of the goddess Iris, and because iris' were planted over the graves of women to help guide them in their journey to heaven
> 
> I think the rest are all pretty self-explanatory :)


	7. Crew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feuilly thinks over how he met Bahorel and became part of les amis

Feuilly sighed contentedly, leaning back into Bahorel, who was sitting next to him with his arm wrapped tightly around his shoulder. They were in the Musian, as usual, sitting around, drinking coffee and talking to their friends. Feuilly smiled at the thought of them being his friends now, just Bahorel’s, although he still couldn’t quite put his finger on how that had happened. 

He’d met Bahorel first, at their boxing gym, where they’d sparred a few times, exchanged banter, and when the conversation had landed briefly on politics and Feuilly had said something extremely Enjolras, Bahorel announced that Feuilly needed to meet his friends. He’d kept Feuilly to himself for a couple of weeks longer first though. 

When Feuilly had met them he had been surprised to find himself hanging out with a bunch of students, but he didn’t really mind. They were close enough in age, and it wasn’t as though they ever really talked about studying, least of all Bahorel. They talked about real world issues, and had actual opinions on all other aspects of life it seems, and they were kind and funny, and Feuilly found over time that he could easily hold an actual conversation with each and every one of them. And they seemed to like him back too. They valued his opinions and respected his life experience and laughed at his snarky sense of humour. They didn’t hold it against him if he didn’t see them for a while, or if he fell asleep when he did see them from working too much overtime, and they didn’t pry, and seemed to sense when there was something about himself and his life that he didn’t want to share. 

And soon enough he wasn’t just Bahorel’s friend, and soon enough he wasn’t just a friend of a friend to the others. He was their friend in his own right. And soon enough, he had become more to Bahorel that just his friend, and he wasn’t entirely sure how that had happened either. 

In fact, he felt there was a distinct possibility that it was either some sort of blessing or curse that surrounded this friendship group and which made all of them end up in relationships with each other. And, even outside of the current relationships, he was sure that there had been hook-ups here and there between them all in the past. So it was clearly the universe and this group’s fault that he and Bahorel had hooked-up in the first place, and that that original hook-up had turned into more, and that those hook-ups had led to a full blown relationship. He hadn’t been expecting it. Not even when he first met Bahorel in the gym. He hadn’t been expecting even a friendship with him, yet here he was, 2 years later with 11 new friends and an even newer boyfriend. Not that he was complaining. He was loving every minute, it was just rather a lot to take in when one broke it down and examined the finer details of it. 

He was brought back to the present with a squeeze on his shoulder from Bahorel, who turned to smile at him as he did so. Feuilly smiled back and moved to press their foreheads against one another briefly. Bahorel managed to capture his lips in a quick kiss before Feuilly pulled away to look around him. He looked at his friends, laughing and talking together, couples and throuples, or neither, relentlessly tactile and affectionate towards one another. And as he thought about how his and Bahorel’s friendship had developed into a relationship, as had happened for so many of his friends sitting around him now, he thought to himself that, even though he had thought he was part of the group before, now, with Bahorel’s arm around his, mirroring Enjolras and Grantaire, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and Marius and Cosette, and Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta, he really was well and truly part of the crew.


	8. Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marius considers how his new friends became friends with each other in the first place

Marius found himself often wishing that he could be a fly on the wall when it came to his new friends. His roommate Courfeyrac had introduced him to the group, and he unexpectedly found himself being taken into the fold as ‘one of them’, albeit slowly, and not without several bumps and hiccups along the way. They all seemed to hold strong views on everything, bar maybe one of them, and it was all too easy to find himself clashing with at least one of them, although usually more, on one topic or another, almost every time they spoke. And although their shared views and the fact that most of them were students might have sufficiently explained how they had all met one another and become friends, there were so many things that Marius kept on noticing, so many facets to their personalities and their relationships with each other, that he often began to question what had brought them together. They all seemed so fundamentally different from one another, at first glance at least, that he often wondered how they survived being in the same room as one another, let alone how they first came together in one space to begin with. 

Joly seemed somewhat nervous of people altogether, or at least their germs, and yet with these people, he was comfortable, and tactile. Bahorel was volatile, but every one of them seemed able to implicitly predict his moods, and his actions, and he was never anything other than a giant teddy-bear towards any of them. Courfeyrac was cheerful and friendly and flirtatious, but it was never grating, and although Marius didn’t always understand why he would want to be friends with all these people he’d chosen, he could understand why they all might gravitate towards him. 

Bossuet was cheerful too, but deeply unlucky, and although they all laughed at him, and he brushed it off good-humouredly, he could tell that it wasn’t obliviousness, but that he was in on the joke. Combeferre was studious, and quiet, and seemed somehow above the childish silliness of the others’ jokes and talk, but when he was sarcastic he made everyone laugh, and no-one felt isolated by him. Musichetta was beautiful and mischievous. It seemed to Marius that she should be too popular a student to be hanging out with him and the others, but she was sincere in her friendship, and kind. 

Feuilly was not a student, and Marius had no idea how he had come to meet them, and he was so tired from his long house days when he got to the meetings that he would often fall asleep, but everyone seemed to worship the ground he walked on. Eponine he already knew, and she often seemed the strangest addition to him. She was tough, and took no shit, and was often closed off, with him at least, but the others always wanted her opinion or advice on anything, and she always gave it. 

It was Enjolras and Grantaire that confused him the most though. Grantaire seemed apathetic, there for the jokes and the drinks, and Enjolras was fiery, and passionate and would turn anything into a debate. But no-one seemed to resent it, least of all Grantaire, who would tear Enjolras’ arguments apart with just as much fire and passion, and eventually Enjolras would appear to mellow, and be ready to enjoy a few jokes, and a few drinks. Marius couldn’t understand how two people who seemed so different and who clashed so violently could also suddenly change their tune and get on so well. He certainly didn’t understand how they could work together as a couple. 

But then, he didn’t get to see behind closed doors where they would team up together to curate debates, each arguing opposite sides until their argument was watertight. He didn’t see Enjolras hold Grantaire tight and just be there for him when he was down. He didn’t see Grantaire breathe with Enjolras when he had a panic attack, or comfort him afterwards. He didn’t see them share tender kisses, or laugh together, or cook for each other, or cuddle each other, or apologise to each other when they fought. 

Maybe if he had seen those things, he would have understood. And he would have rolled his eyes and smiled along with the others when they had heated debates in the Musian. And if he had been a fly on the wall, he would have known that they always managed to find somewhere afterwards to make out and mutter apologies and compliments about their respective arguments. And he would have known definitively, and for whatever reason, that somehow, together, they worked.


	9. Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Eponine character study

Strength comes in many shapes and forms. And sometimes, like confidence, strength can be something you have to fake before it’s really there. And sometimes, you don’t realise when it’s become real. Or rather, you don’t realise that’s it’s been there all the time, ever since you first started ‘faking’ it. Because with things like confidence, and strength, faking it is always the first step.

Eponine didn’t often feel strong, although she was. She thought she merely tried to create a person to help her appear to be strong. Her undercut and her piercings, her tattoos and her fishnets, her leather jacket and her combat boots. Those made her appear strong, so that no-one would know that really, she was weak. 

And she needed to appear strong for her brother and her sister. To prove to them, and to everyone else, that she could look after them. To allow them to be vulnerable and look to her for strength, through all the court proceedings with her parent, she needed to be strong. To help them be strong through it all, she needed to pretend that she was. To prove to a social worker that she could look after them. To prove to parents and teachers at their school that she could look after them. To face their pity, and their scorn, and their apathy, and their judgement, she needed to at least pretend that she was strong. 

She didn’t really realise that that strength had been within her all along. It was that strength that enabled her to leave an abusive relationship, that had enabled her to survive her parents and take care of her siblings, to nurse a broken heart, to leave her parents, to call the police on them, to fight for custody of her siblings, to work all hours in shitty jobs while still striving for her dream and asking her friends for help when she needed it. That was true strength. And she had had it all along. 

It wasn’t until she was having a drink in the Musian with her friends that she realised this, and then it was only because they finally told it to her straight. She can’t remember now what the issue had been, but she had told Marius he would get through it because he was strong.

“Well, if ‘Ponine says it, it must be true, so I’m taking that”.

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, you’re the strongest person I know”. The others hummed in agreement. Eponine smiled to herself. And for the first time in her life, she didn’t feel like she was pretending. This time, she knew, she was strong.


	10. Crisp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire goes to pick up Enjolras for their very first date

It was a crisp winter’s morning when Grantaire turned up outside Enjolras’ apartment building. He was wearing a thick green hoodie underneath a black leather jacket, with a black beanie and gloves. He had slightly underestimated the coldness in the air that morning, but luckily he had discovered the gloves by chance, stuffed into this jacket pockets the last time he had worn it, no doubt on a similar morning the year before. It was also lucky that he was holding a takeaway cup of hot chocolate in each hand, were doing a very good job of staving off the cold threatening to numb his fingers, even through his gloves. He began to pace up and down, partly to warm up, and partly out of nerves. Today, he was picking up Enjolras for their first date.

It had taken months for him to work up the courage to ask him out, and now, even though he had said yes with a smile, Grantaire was typically taking ages to work up the courage to ring the bell to Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment. Eventually, he decided that the hot chocolate would be cold before Enjolras appeared if he left it much longer, so he pressed the buzzer.

“Helloo?”

“Hey ‘Ferre, it’s me, ‘Taire”.

“Don’t say another word, I’ll send him right down. And don’t panic, I know for a fact he’s madly in love with you”. Grantaire grinned to himself and Combeferre’s mini pep talk.   
He’d certainly been madly in love with Enjolras for the longest time. He was always to passionate about everything, wanting to put the world to rights, wanting to always do the right thing, looking out for his friends and standing by them no matter what. And he was gorgeous to boot. Although with the help of his friends he’d tried to look upon it in a more positive light, Grantaire sometimes felt that Enjolras was everything he wasn’t. How he was short and stocky, where Enjolras was tall, and svelte. How he was cynical, and realistic, where Enjolras was idealistic and hopeful. How he was calm, and outgoing, where Enjolras was anxious, and naturally introverted. But they complimented one another. Enjolras made Grantaire soar, and Grantaire brought Enjolras back to earth when he needed it most. 

Grantaire was brought out of his thoughts by a tap on his shoulder. He looked up at Enjolras, bundled up in a winter coat and a scarf, his nose already a little red where it had been hit by the cold. Grantaire beamed.

“Hot chocolate?” he offered, holding one out to Enjolras.

“Aw, thanks, it’s freezing this morning. So, where are we going?”

“It’s not that bad. Although now you’ve said that you may not like this, but I was thinking that the ice-rink opened today. We could take full advantage of it, if you’re not too cold”.

“As long as I have you to keep me warm”, Enjolras joked, but he slid his hand into Grantaire’s all the same. “It sounds perfect ‘Taire, thank you. You’re amazing”. And Grantaire stood speechless for a second, looking into Enjolras’ deep, brown eyes, thanking God that he’s finally asked out this man he’d considered a friend for years, and thinking that he may have just made the best decision of his life. From then on, cold, crisp, winter mornings were always his favourite sort.


	11. Desperate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bahorel teases Feuilly for being a little bit desperate to get it on

“Wow, you really are desperate aren’t you?” Bahorel laughed, as Feuilly tried several times to open the door of their apartment with shaking hands, Bahorel’s arms wrapped around him and with kisses being pressed into the back of his neck.

“Shut the fuck up”, Feuilly retorted as he finally got the door open. He threw the keys in the dish they kept for them by the door, turned around, and pushed Bahorel against the door, hard, pressing into him with a rough kiss, causing the door to slam shut.

“Okay, shutting up”, Bahorel complied breathily, in-between kisses. Feuilly glared at him, but a tell-tale smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he bit down on Bahorel’s neck, eliciting a gasp from his boyfriend.

“Fuck, you’re amazing”, Bahorel gasped, pulling at Feuilly’s hair.

“I know, now shut up”, came the smirking reply. And then they were kissing again, Feuilly grinding up against Bahorel and pinning his wrists against the door. Bahorel decided to succumb for a little while longer before releasing his arms and flipping Feuilly so he had his back against the door, just long enough to give Bahorel enough leverage to grab Feuilly’s thighs and lift him up so his legs were wrapped tightly around Bahorel’s waist. Bahorel winked at his boyfriend, grinned, and managed to carry him to the sofa to continue their activities. The bedroom was too far, and the thought of waiting any longer to get in Feuilly’s pants was simply unacceptable. He may have laughed at Feuilly before, but when it came to his boyfriend Bahorel was always just as desperate. 

▪ ▪ ▪

Afterwards, Bahorel kissed along Feuilly’s freckled arms.

“One of these days I’ll have kissed every single one”, he said, lovingly.

“You’re a sap”, Feuilly said bluntly, standing up and walking over to the door.

“Hey, where the fuck are you going?”

“To find my cigarettes you whiny bastard, I’ll be back in a second”. True to his word, Feuilly returned quickly, having recovered his jeans from the floor and grabbed a cigarette and his lighter from the pocket. He lit up, sat back down next to Bahorel, then took a drag and pulled Bahorel towards him by the back of his neck. He released the smoke into Bahorel’s mouth and began kissing the hickey’s he’d left on his jaw and neck. Bahorel let out an involuntary groan.

“Now who’s desperate?”, Feuilly joked.

“Fuck you”.

“You just did”.

“Fuck me then.”

“You’re on”.

And Bahorel laughed smugly as Feuilly moved to straddle him and get ready for round two.


	12. Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone thinks that Grantaire is Enjolras' shadow, but they both know that that isn't really the case

Grantaire might as well have been Enjolras’ shadow. Everywhere Enjolras was, Grantaire would be. If you needed Enjolras, call Grantaire, and where he was, Enjolras was to be found.   
If Enjolras was sitting in the Musian, Grantaire would be across the table from him. If Enjolras was at a rally, or a march, Grantaire would be by his side.

It had been like that for as long as most of them could remember, and no-one ever questioned it. It was just how they were. They both knew it too.

On Grantaire’s part, it was completely intentional to be wherever Enjolras might be. If Enjolras was called, but was stuck in his head, Grantaire would be there to respond on his behalf, and make sure Enjolras was aware that he was wanted. If Enjolras was sitting in the café, planning a demonstration or debating a news item, or just drinking coffee with his friends, Grantaire was there to support him, or argue against him, or to just flash him a reassuring smile. And if Enjolras was at a rally or a protest Grantaire would be there to hold his hand, fight alongside him, or to pull him away and protect him if things got nasty. And when he went to eat, or to sleep, Grantaire would be by his side, laughing with him, kissing him, and wrapping his arms around him. 

If Grantaire was Enjolras’ shadow then surely they were sewn together like in Peter Pan to stop them from breaking apart. Enjolras didn’t know how he would survive, or how he had survived this far, if he did not have Grantaire by his side. He knew this, and he thanked Grantaire for it everyday with kind words and lazy kisses, with notes written in stream on the bathroom mirror and hair pulling and bear hugs. 

Everyone else saw Grantaire as his shadow. But Enjolras knew that he was his rock.


	13. Repair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire and Enjolras have an argument, and this time Enjolras thinks it's beyond repairing

Enjolras slammed his bedroom door shut angrily before lying face down on the bed. He was angry because he had fucked up, and he knew it. And this time, he didn’t think there was anything he could possibly do to fix it. He was out of chances. And this was beyond repair. He had apologised and apologised and couldn’t think of anything else he could do, and still he knew it wasn’t enough.

Grantaire had thrown him out of the apartment angrily, with tears streaming down his face. He didn’t try to get Grantaire to let him back in. He knew he didn’t deserve that, and that it would only make Grantaire angrier. On his way out of the building he passed Eponine, who Grantaire had clearly texted to come over as soon as things had got really bad slightly earlier in the evening. She glared and shoved past him. He put his head in his hands for a moment, fighting back his own tears, before continuing to his apartment. Combeferre had greeted him as he came in, saying that Eponine told him something had happened but that she didn’t say what. Enjolras had merely brushed past him and gone straight to his room, which is where he was now, playing things over in his mind.

He had really hurt Grantaire, and he knew it. It had started out like any normal argument. Heat of the moment, a result of stress and short tempers, where stupid things that weren’t meant were said. Usually though, those arguments ended in one of them sulkily apologising, which would prompt the other to do the same, and they would hug, and kiss, and make up. But this time, Enjolras had said something really dumb. Grantaire had come home from work later than usually, and in the midst of the argument it had prompted him to ask Grantaire if he had been out late drinking again, implying that his anger could be explained by drunkenness. He regretted it as soon as he’d said it. Grantaire had taken his one year sober chip out of his pocket and thrown it at him. When they started dating Enjolras had promised, at Grantaire’s request, that he would never hold his addiction against him in any disagreement or argument. He knew that Grantaire had tried, and was doing well, and was determined to see it through this time, without relapsing. 

“But my addiction is part of me Enjolras, and you have to take it if you’re going to take me”.

“Of course. I’ve always been there for you with this ‘Taire, that doesn’t change now”.

But Enjolras had broken his promise. And he had taken an extremely low blow at the person he loved most in the world. He had used the thing Grantaire struggled with the most, and used it against him pettily. And he knew that to Grantaire, it was unforgivable. Enjolras began to think that maybe he didn’t love Grantaire as much as he thought he did, if he had said that to him. And the more he thought, the more he cried, and the more he saw his whole world crumble before his eyes. And the worst part, the very worst part, was that he knew that it was all his fault.


	14. Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no disguising the fact that Courfeyrac was stupidly in love with Combeferre. At this point, even Combeferre knew, and it was getting ridiculous.

There was really know disguising the fact that Courfeyrac was stupidly in love with Combeferre. He tried to hide it of course, wary of ruining their friendship with each other, or their dynamic with Enjolras, largely through obscene amounts of flirting with other people, but it was completely pointless. Everyone knew. He was too obvious. 

The way none of his dates went beyond that – the first date. The way he made excuses to be far more tactile with Combeferre than with anyone else. The way he smiled when Combeferre talked and never got bored, or, like the others sometimes did, tried to steer him away from continuing to talk about something that only he was really interested in for far longer than was socially acceptable. The way he blushed or stammered when Combeferre touched him, or even if he just stood near him. The way he joked that if Combeferre didn’t find someone before they reached laten middle age then he’d ‘take one for the team’ and marry him himself. The way his smile faltered, just barely visible, if Combeferre mentioned a person that they liked, or that they’d been on a successful date. 

Before long, even Combeferre knew about Courfeyrac’s crush, and by that point it was getting ridiculous. Combeferre had wanted to wait, when he’d first found out. Give Courfeyrac some time to work out his feelings, maybe make a move. It was only when Enjolras told him how long Courfeyrac had been pining that it became apparent to Combeferre that there wasn’t going to be a move made on Courfeyrac’s part, and that if he waited, he would be waiting until the end of time. Which, he supposed, left it up to him. 

▪ ▪ ▪

It was a Friday night, when Courfeyrac decided to take the plunge and confront Courfeyrac about his not so subtle crush. They’d all had drinks that evening at the Musian, and were slowly beginning to split off to their respective homes. When Courfeyrac stood up, Combeferre followed suit.

“Um, can I, er, walker you home?” he asked, stumbling over his words at the awkwardness of the situation and pushing his glasses up his nose. “I wanted to talk to you”.

Courfeyrac gulped, looking like a deer in the headlights. He looked vaguely over Combeferre’s shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t notice, only to see all his friends with wide eyes making frantic arm gestures as if to tell him, ‘Just fucking go for it’. 

“Er, okay, sure”, was just about all Courfeyrac could manage in answer to Courfeyrac. As they walked out of the café together Courfeyrac side-eyed him as if to ensure that he was still there, and to try and gauge what he might have done to cause Combeferre to want to talk to him in private. They talked with little purpose on the walk home. The chatter was mainly to alleviate the tense silence that would fall over them otherwise. It was only when they got to the door of Courfeyrac’s apartment that Combeferre decided to get straight to the point. 

“So, did you have something to tell me?” Courfeyrac froze, his previously relaxed demeanour tensing at the words”.

“No”, he managed. “Why? Should I?”

“Well”, said Combeferre, leaning in conspiratorially, “it’s come to my attention that you may havev a bit of a crush on someone. You’re not as good at hiding it as you think”. Courfeyrac let out a heavy sigh, and looked at the floor.

“Look, If you’re just gonna…” he began, but was cut off by Combeferre pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“You knew it was you?” Courfeyrac asked, surprised.

“I thought I’d just made that pretty obvious”.

“I thought you were just annoyed I hadn’t told you I had a crush on someone and you were trying to drag it out of me, I didn’t think you knew it was you”.

“Courf”, Combeferre said, softly, “everyone knew it was me”.

“Oh”, Courfeyrac said, bluntly, the enormity of what had just been said sinking in, his brain running at a thousand miles a minute.

“Yes, ‘oh’”.

“Well”, said Courfeyrac, steeling himself, “I suppose there’s not much point even trying to hide it anymore then is there?”

“Not at all”.

“And you…you like me back?”

“What do you think?” Combeferre teased, smirking.

“Just say it”, Courfeyrac pleaded.

Combeferre became serious for a moment, and reached out to loosely grasp his hand.

“I really, really like you back. In fact…” But he never got the chance to finish, because Courfeyrac had pulled him into a desperate kiss that he’d been aching for for months. Combeferre merely responded in kind. They could talk about all of this late, but right now, he knew that this was what Courfeyrac needed. And who was he to stop him?


	15. Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bossuet gets an eyelash in his eye and makes a wish on it

“Arg!” cried Bossuet, poking at his eye.

“Don’t poke it!” Joly said, looking agitated, “You’ll make it worse”.

“No, I’ve just got something in it I think”.

“Bad luck love. Let me have a look”, Musichetta said softly, scooting round to face Bossuet and crossing her legs on the sofa. They were all curled up there, having just finished their Friday film night. Bossuet was in the middle, with Joly on his left side, and Musichetta on his right. He had had his arm around her before he’d got the pain in his eye and he’s felt the need to attack it. Joly was resting his head on Bossuet’s lap and Bossuet’s hand was running through his hair, and scratching at the back of his neck. There were two blankets draped haphazardly over the three of them, a nearly empty bowl of popcorn and a completely empty bottle of wine on the coffee table, and the end credits to Disney’s animated Cinderella had just started rolling. Musichetta was humming ‘So this is love’ under her breath as she moved closer to look at Bossuet’s eye. Using her little finger, she went to poke at it.

“Don’t..!” Joly began.

“It’s just an eyelash love”, Musichetta said, for his benefit rather than Bossuet’s. “I got it, don’t worry. You wanna make a wish?” she asked, directed at Bossuet this time.

He smiled warmly at her. It was Musichetta who had first told him about wishing on loose eyelashes. It was something he always did now. And he always wished for the same thing. So far, he had been given no reason to doubt the effectiveness of it. But then, Musichetta was always right about everything. 

“Go on then”, he said. She held out the eyelash on the finger, and he closed his eyes and blew as he wished. When he opened his eyes again, the eyelash had blown away.

“What did you wish for?” asked Joly.

“If I tell you it won’t come true will it?”

Musichetta hummed in agreement as she settled back into Bossuet’s side with his arm around her. He kissed the top of her head absentmindedly and smiled to himself. Here he was, with the two people who he loved most in the world. He couldn’t wish for more, so he never did. He only wished that they would always be by his side, loving him, just as they were now. And with every year that passed, every month, every week, every day that they stayed with him, he thanked some sort of magical entity, which he assumed could only be called upon when wishing on eyelashes, or birthday candles, or other such things, for making it so. And he closed his eyes, satisfied that, although no-one else saw it, he was the luckiest man in the world. And he chuckled, as Joly moved to play ‘A dream is a wish your heart makes’ on his phone, and dragged both himself and Musichetta up off the sofa to sway with him in their living room to the music.


	16. Intrepid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire and Enjolras have a new daughter, and Grantaire realises he already can't bear the thought of her not being around.

“Ooh, she’s very intrepid isn’t she?” Jehan said, somewhat anxiety-ridden as he managed to rescue the 2 year old from falling down the step that led into their garden after she’d managed to clamber up it unsupervised.

“Yup, takes after her Dad”, Grantaire said proudly. Combeferre raised an eyebrow at him, and Enjolras snorted.

“Well, not me, obviously”, explained Grantaire. “I meant Enjolras”.

“Yeah, that does make more sense”, Bahorel agreed.

“Oi!” Grantaire thwacked him on the shoulder.

“Hey, you’ve gotta be setting a good example now you’ve got a daughter”, Combeferre mock-warned, snarkily.

“Yeah, yeah”, Grantaire brushed off the comment good-naturedly, but inside his heart was still beating at about a hundred miles a minute at the thought that he had a daughter. It had been a long process for him and Enjolras, trying to adopt, but after a few years, it had finally happened, and they were Dads to the most gorgeous little girl Grantaire had ever laid eyes on.

Her name was Maria, and she had dark, curly hair, and bright blue eyes, and she was curious about everything and entirely fearless, which sometimes scared Grantaire to death, but at least it kept him on his toes. And Enjolras absolutely doted on her, which made him weak at the knees, so he supposed it evened it out.

They were a proper little family now, he thought, and introducing Maria to their friends for the first time had sealed the deal. She seemed to love everyone, and she was certainly loved by all. There was no shortage of uncles or aunties to give her piggy-back rides, or play with her, or read to her, which she seemed thoroughly impressed by, and Grantaire and Enjolras were never short of a babysitter, which they were very impressed by. It was amazing, Grantaire thought, how easily, how smoothly she’d fitted into all their lives.  
He’d always wanted to be a Dad, but he was still surprised at how quickly he’d realised that he could barely remember a day without her, and already didn’t want to think about her growing up, and not needing them. Which would happen pretty early on, he’d thought, seeing how independent she already tried to be at such a young age. Enjolras had reassured him that, no matter how big she got, she was always going to want her Dad, and that had cheered him up, in a bittersweet way.

When she had first called him Dad he had burst into tears, and even hearing it now, many times after the first, he felt he could barely hold it together. When he’d confessed this to Enjolras his husband had just smiled, and kissed him, and said that it proved that he was made for this. And Grantaire had smiled, embarrassed, and just hugged him tighter. Maria was already asleep by that point, and Grantaire had gone into her room and sat next to her gently in the dark, and stroked her hair, talking to her softly.

“I never thought I could have this, you know? Have a daughter. Have a daughter at all, let alone a daughter as wonderful as you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You and Enjolras. Somehow you’re already just like him. Fearless, determined, independent. You’re gonna grow up to be one heck of a person, you know? I can see it now. And I’m already so proud of you. And I know it’s inevitable that you will, and it’s a good thing really, but try not to grow up too fast, yeah? Just, don’t get tired of me too soon. Please. I don’t think I could bear it”. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I love you, munchkin”. And he tiptoed out of the room, thinking that he couldn’t imagine his life getting even a little bit more perfect than it was in that moment.


	17. Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feuilly and Bahorel get a cat

“You can’t just call it ‘cat’”, Grantaire complained, “Surely that’s gotta be animal cruelty”.  
“But it is a cat”, Bahorel protested, “and Feuilly won’t be able to remember anything else. He’s been so crazy busy at the moment I’m not convinced he even remembers we have a cat.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have got one”, Grantaire countered.

“But she was so small and cute, I couldn’t just leave here there”.

A few days before, Bahorel had come back from the gym in the evening and found the small, stray kitten sheltering from the rain in an alley. He had immediately bundled it into his hoodie and brought it home. Feuilly had been exasperated, but his heart had betrayed his head and melted at the sight of the cute, bedraggled kitten dwarfed in his boyfriend’s strong arms. And Bahorel knew that despite his half-hearted complaints that had their positions been reversed, Feuilly would no more have left the kitten along on the streets than he would have left a child.

“I’m just gonna keep her here for tonight and then take her to the vet tomorrow to check if she’s microchipped and go from there”, Bahorel had said.

She wasn’t, and what followed was a long process of deciding whether or not to become cat parents, whilst merely calling her ‘cat’, too afraid to get attached. It didn’t take long to decide they wanted to keep her, so they got her shots, got here microchipped, and began getting her settled, which had included introducing her as ‘cat’ to a less than impressed Grantaire.

When Feuilly came home that night and immediately went to lean into Bahorel and cuddle their new black and white kitten he announced, “I think we should give here a proper name”.

“But what about ‘cat’?” Bahorel replied indignantly. It’s iconic now. She probably recognises it as her name!”

“It’s only been four days ‘Rel, I think she’ll cope. Besides, we could always keep it as a surname. But I was thinking an old lady name would be cute, like Norma, or Doris or something”. 

“What about Geraldine?”, said Bahorel, “If she’s gonna have a surname too the first name’s gotta be a little fancy”.

“Okay”, laughed Feuilly, “‘Geraldine T. Cat’ it is”.

“Geraldine T. Cat?”

“Geraldine the Cat”.

“You’re such a dumbass, I love you”, Bahorel said, slinging his arm ‘round Feuilly and scratching Geraldine behind her ear. 

“I could get used to this”, he thought.


	18. Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac wakes up Combeferre to take him on an adventure

“Ferre! Wake up, we’re going on an adventure”.

Combeferre slowing, and groggily, opened one eye. Courfeyrac was straddling him, his nose nearly touching Combeferre’s, his hair sticking out every which way and wearing a shit-eating grin. 

“You what now?” asked Combeferre.

“We’re going on an adventure!” Courfeyrac repeated excitedly. “I made pancakes”, he added.

Combeferre sighed, but smiled. Pancakes was something at least. He began to sit up as Courfeyrac captured his with a kiss before running out of their bedroom towards the kitchen. Combeferre put on his glasses and slowly followed the path his boyfriend had taken. Courfeyrac was already plating up pancakes when Combeferre came in and noticed a cool bag, backpacks and a huge bottle of water. Combeferre came up behind Courfeyrac, putting his arms around his waist and kissing his neck. 

“So”, he began, expectantly, “what have you got planned?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Now go eat your pancakes”.

Combeferre just laughed and gave in. He’d been taken on adventures before by Courfeyrac, and he was never willing to give many details away. Combeferre knew from experience that today he could be doing anything from going to the beach to climbing a mountain, from ice-skating to a pottery class, from going to a music festival to simply having a picnic. Somehow, Courfeyrac never ran out of ideas. Combeferre smiled into his pancakes, thinking about how life since beginning to date Courfeyrac had been an adventure in more ways than one. And as he saw Courfeyrac trying to squeeze the last of the maple syrup onto his pancakes and only succeed in getting it on the table instead, he barely contained his laughter before pushing Courfeyrac back into his seat and getting up to clean It himself, whilst thinking that he wouldn’t mind continuing on this particular adventure for the rest of his life.


	19. Fold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Les amis play monopoly and the longer it goes on the more frustrated Courfeyrac gets

“Ugh”, groaned Courfeyrac dramatically, slamming his head face down on the table, “I fold”.

“This is monopoly, dumbass”, Combeferre smirked, not unkindly, “you can’t ‘fold’”.

“Well I’m gonna, it’s been two hours and I’m losing and everything sucks”.

“Sorry”, Marius squeaked, grimacing and looking suddenly guilty that Courfeyrac had landed on his hotel, in contrast to the gleam of triumph that had covered his features before. Combeferre waved him off.

“He’s just being a drama queen”.

“Hey!” interrupted Courfeyrac, smacking Combeferre lightly on the shoulder.

“You’re fine babe, you just can’t do maths”.

“I’m not Grantaire!”

“Don’t drag me into this!” Grantaire laughed, “I happen to be doing just fine”, he continued smugly, “and I suck at maths”.

“I just mean”, explained Combeferre, “that if you were better at maths you wouldn’t be panicking so prematurely. Look”. He proceeded to count up Courfeyrac’s monopoly money, sold his houses and mortgaged one property, collecting the money from the bank and handing it over to Marius. 

“See love, you’re still very much in the game. I only had to mortgage one property, and it’s not part of a set or anything”. He bumped shoulders with Courfeyrac companionably. 

“Fine”, Courfeyrac said, resigning himself to another couple of hours of monopoly. “Next time, can we pick someone else to be bank? I’ll never get to play another game as long as I live if he goes on like this”.

“I thought you wanted to be able to keep playing!” Courfeyrac cried indignantly.

“Eh, at this point I’d rather play operation”.

“And for someone training to be a doctor, you really are shit at operation”, commented Bahorel.

“I know! Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something”.

“Well I think the universe is definitely telling us to stop playing monopoly”, muttered Enjolras, slightly bitterly, who had been waiting to take his turn throughout the whole exchange.

“Right!” Cosette cried, ever the voice of reason, “The time has come when this moaning is going to devolve into you killing each other, no more monopoly”. And she promptly tipped the houses of the board and began snatching up everyone’s money and properties. 

“Sooo…” began Grantaire, after an awkward silence, “does this mean it’s finally time for strip Jenga?”

The room erupted with fifty percent agreement and fifty percent moans of opposition. Combeferre held up his hands, “I tried to save you guys, I really did”, he said to the strip Jenga opposers. 

Later though, when Courfeyrac knocked over the tower for what seemed like the millionth time and was left in just his boxers, he was inclined to agree with him that if this was going to be the result, he should never be bank in monopoly again.


	20. Boot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan gets beaten up, but Courfeyrac is there to look after him.

The last thing Jehan remembered was feeling a heavy boot sharply kick the side of his head. They must have blacked out after that.

They awoke now to bright, white lights, and a figure standing over him. Courfeyrac. Thank God. Jehan thought they heard a buzzer being pressed, and talking. 

“They’re awake! They’re awake!” Courfeyrac was yelling. His voice softened as he looked back at Jehan. 

“Of course I’m awake” Jehan said, confused, and that was all it took for Courfeyrac to burst into tears.

“Come one” they heard another voice say, and they saw arms grasp Courfeyrac’s shoulders and turn him around for a hug. 

‘Enjolras’, Jehan thought. ‘I must be in hospital’ they decided, and then they remembered the boot.

Words were exchanged, nurses and doctors seemed to float in and out of the room, and eventually Jehan adjusted. Courfeyrac was sitting in a chair next to the bed. He was holding Jehan’s hand.

“Can you kiss me know?” they asked. Courfeyrac smiled.

“Of course”, he replied, and stood up to kiss Jehan gently on the forehead. 

“Now a proper one” Jehan insisted. Courfeyrac snorted.

“You are better” he joked, but complied, kissing Jehan softly on the lips. “I was so worried about you. I really thought I’d lost you”.

“You could never lose me. What happened exactly? All I really remember is this boot”. Courfeyrac winced. “I suppose they kicked me. I don’t remember much else”.

“You got beaten up”, Courfeyrac explained. “Really badly. Someone found you and rang the ambulance, and the police. They called me. You were knocked unconscious. You’ve been out for a couple of days. I’ve been here the whole time, I swear. So have all the others. They’ve been taking turns brining me food and stuff. I never left your side, I promise. Well, except to pee, but you know what I mean”.

“Why?”

“Why?” echoed Courfeyrac. 

“You need to take care of yourself too Courfeyrac, I always tell you that. You always put other people first, too much sometimes. And I’m ok, aren’t I?”

“I love you, and I thought you were dying and I should have been there with you!”, Courfeyrac cried out, volume increasing and tears falling faster with every word. Then he let out a deep breath. “Cut me some slack”, he continued, with a half-hearted laugh, trying to make light of the fear and frustration that had been slowly building inside him from when he’d first got that phone call that Jehan was in hospital. 

“But they’ve said that you waking up already is really good. That it shouldn’t be long in the grand scheme of things before you can come home”.

“Thank you for looking after me” Jehan said softly, their eyes telling Courfeyrac more than any words could that they understood, and that everything was ok.

“Anytime”, Courfeyrac replied, grinning and wiping away his tears. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again though”.

“Courfeyrac…” Jehan began to admonish him.

“Nope”, Courfeyrac said resolutely, “you’re stuck with me. Even more than you were before. Nothing you can do about it”.

“Wouldn’t dream of trying to get out of it even if I could”, Jehan said through a yawn.

“You’re allowed to sleep y’know. The nurse said so. Said it would be good for you. I’ll still be here when you wake up”. Jehan rolled their eyes lazily.

“I don’t doubt it”. The last thing Jehan remembered this time was Courfeyrac’s smile, and his laugh. And it wasn’t long before they woke up to him once more, still by their side, and holding their hand. And Jehan thanked God for his good luck, in all things.


	21. Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring was Enjolras' favourite season. It had been spring when he'd first seen him.

It was the first day of spring, and the apple blossom was already in bloom. It brightened Enjolras’ walk to work, and was by far the best time to be walking there. The summer was too hot, although the leaves from the trees did give some shade, and small, unripe apples would begin to fall on the pavement. In the autumn it was worse – leaves and rotten apples lining the path, and the wind blowing in your face. In winter the trees were bare, and it was cold, and grey. Spring was the time for Enjolras. It had been spring when he’d first seen him.

A man, with dark, curly hair, hunched over a sketchpad on the bench at the side of the path. He had a coffee in a takeaway cup perched precariously next to him on one of the benches’ slats, and his tongue was sticking out as he concentrated. When he glanced up, for whatever reason, he caught Enjolras’ eye, and winked. Enjolras had just smiled shyly, and looked at the ground. But he had smiled. The same thing happened the next day, and the next. On the fourth day, Enjolras had made up his mind to do something about it. So he bought two coffees on his way home from work and that day, when the man winked, Enjolras sat next to him, and passed one to him. The man offered him a smile as their fingers brushed, just for a second, and in that second Enjolras’ world became a little brighter. Just for a second.

They began to talk. The man’s name was Grantaire, and he was drawing for a commission. When he went home he used his sketches and he painted. Spring was the perfect time to be painting something like this, he said. The flowers were in bloom, the light was perfect, and the weather was good enough that handsome men would walk past him on their way to work on the regular. Enjolras laughed out loud at that. And so it went on through the summer. Although of course they saw one another more than just on Enjolras’ way to work. It was nice But Enjolras would be lying if he said he didn’t miss Grantaire sitting on that bench every day without fail once autumn and winter came around, when the weather was worse and then when Grantaire had moved onto a new commission. When Grantaire had moved on.

When spring came around again the bench was still empty, but it was still Enjolras’ favourite season, even if now some of his favourite memories of it were bittersweet. It was another year before he noticed anyone on the bench again. Of course, other people had sat there, but not on the regular, and non-one who had caught Enjolras’ eye quite like the man who had sat there two years before. But now, there he was, with no sketchpad, and two coffees, looking at him. And Enjolras felt himself walk over, and ask if he was waiting for anyone. “Only you”, came the reply, and so he sat, and drank coffee, and talked, and even laughed a bit. And in that moment it felt as though as long as he had this, and didn’t push it away again, everything would be ok. In that moment.

In that moment, spring was once again, without exception this time, Enjolras’ favourite season, with the flowers in bloom, and the light breeze, and the man by his side, talking and joking like old times, his smile blinding in the sunshine.


	22. Leaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the barricade

A single leaf blew in the wind, through the Rue Saint-Denis and to the Rue de la Chenverie, where it fluttered to the ground, simple and unobtrusive. It landed in a pool of blood that had yet to be cleaned away. Once the sun rose high in the sky, one would be able to see the reflection of it in the dark red liquid. The bright green of the leaf stood in contrast with it, and yet also in solidarity. Representing something that, in the summer, should be alive, and growing, but which had been ripped from that which gave it life. So that blood represented a young man, who should be alive, and thriving, but, in the absence any opportunity for his fellow man to thrive, had chosen death, in the hope that his blood might nurture the plants, and allow something in the future to grow. 

But alas, it was merely washed away. It’s only companion in nature another dead thing, with no life left to revive. A single leaf which could have represented life, and growth, and new beginnings, condemned, like everything and everyone else in Paris that night, to darkness and misery and death. 

Although if one looked up, only slightly, one would see these words, carved roughly into the wall underneath which the leaf and the pool of blood lay: ‘vivent les peuples’. And one might think that maybe, after all, there was a little bit of hope left, and a little bit of life, in a leaf, and a pool of blood, and some writing on the wall.


	23. Threadbare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire's room usually feels rather threadbare, except when Enjolras is there to make it feel less lonely

Grantaire usually bemoaned the threadbare appearance of the room he rented near the café Musian. Not because he wished for more material possession, though it was threadbare in respect too, but because it felt lonely. It was devoid of the company he thrived on, and which found only with his friends at the Corinth or the Musian. It was usually Bossuet or Joly who tried to bring him out of his melancholia while he was with them, but who also encouraged him to return to his abode afterwards, rather than to drink himself into a stupor and stay at the Corinth all night, hunched over in a corner, away and out of sight.

When Enjolras came back with him to his room though, it didn’t feel the same. It was still threadbare, containing only a makeshift bed and some crates filled with clothes and books. Nothing on the walls, no carpet on the floor. A candle to stave of the darkness. But he didn’t need that when Enjolras was there. Enjolras filled the room with light by his mere presence. Even if all they did was sit and talk, still the whole atmosphere in the space was changed, and Grantaire no longer looked around and saw his meagre possessions strewn around as a sign of loneliness, as the sign of a bachelor with no-one to come home to and no-one to make an effort for, the four walls as shutting him in away from a world of friendship and laughter which he craved when he was alone and the silence became deafening.

With Enjolras, these four walls became their refuge, shutting out the outside world and following them to just be, to hold one another and kiss one another without ever having to hide, or keep an eye open or offer any explanations to anyone. To look at it, the room still seemed lonely, obviously the abode of one person who took little care of it, or of himself, but with Enjolras there, it no longer felt oppressive to Grantaire, or made him feel lonely, or guilty, or pathetic. It made him feel smug, and clever, and proud, and happy and self-assured. For who would ever suspect, when Enjolras’ presence was not reflected anywhere, without him physically present. The appearance of his room became another layer of protection from the outside world. It became a place where Grantaire thought he could never be lonely, and where he could have everything he ever wanted. All because of one man who lit up the space just by being there. 

Grantaire turned to look at him, lying next to him, covered mainly by a sheet but his back still on full display as he lay on his front, with tousled blond curls spread over the pillow. Grantaire surveyed the room as he began to trace his fingers along Enjolras’ back. It may have been threadbare, and lonely, but right now, with Enjolras sleeping next to him, he felt he was the richest man in the world.


	24. Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bahorel did not have a crush on Feuilly. Absolutely not. No matter what anyone said, no matter what his so-called, traitorous friends might think, he did not.

Bahorel did not have a crush on Feuilly. Absolutely not. No matter what anyone said, no matter what his so-called, traitorous friends might think, he did not. Not that Feuilly wasn’t attractive of course. He wouldn’t insult his friend, and after all, he did have eyes. And Feuilly wasn’t bad. He was tall, and muscular. Not gratuitously so, more sort of just, toned. Very toned. With the sort of shoulders that made you want to grab hold of them and test their strength and feel the dip by the shoulder blade. And subtle, but very much there, abs, that surely anyone in their right mind would want to trace with their fingertips. And he had curly, ginger hair, bright and natural, usually with stubble to accompany it, and the most gorgeous freckles covering every inch of him, but most prominently on his arms, and on his face. The freckles across his nose and cheeks emphasises his bright blue eyes And Bahorel knew that he was special, having blue eyes and ginger hair. The rarest natural hair and eye colour combination going, and Feuilly had it. He was unique. In more ways than one. But that didn’t mean Bahorel had a crush.

Of course, Feuilly was his best friend, and roommate. But that was to be expected. They had a lot in common. They both boxed for starters. And then there was their politics, and their taste in TV shows. Bahorel was the only person Feuilly would admit to liking RuPaul’s Drag Race to, and both of them were unashamedly into true crime. And into watching random episodes of cartoons or comedies after seeing a true crime episode that creeped them out too much to want to go to bed immediately afterwards. And if Bahorel put his arm around Feuilly’s when they were watching something on the sofa, and if Feuilly would nod off with his head against Bahorel’s shoulder, and if Bahorel took advantage that by softly running his fingers through Feuilly’s hair, then that was his lookout. It wasn’t anyone else’s business.

And they had plenty of differences too. They were both smart, sure, but Feuilly worked about ten times harder than anyone Bahorel had ever known. And sure, he was down to joke around on occasion, but Feuilly was still far more serious than Bahorel. He got more anxious about things that were important, where Bahorel would try and keep things as light as possible. They were complete opposites in that sense. It wouldn’t make any sense for Bahorel to have a crush on Feuilly. Or for Feuilly to have a crush on him. Although it did make his heart clench with pride when he was able to pry a smile out of Feuilly when he’d had a hard day and was feeling shit. It would start slowly, in the corner of his mouth, his lips just turning up slightly, and then it would grow, until his teeth were showing and his dimples were prominent. And if Bahorel was really lucky, Feuilly would start laughing, a sound which made everything right with the world, and his eyes would laugh and his shoulders would shake and he would throw his head back and just, let go. And in that moment he would be completely relaxed, all his worries gone, all the weight lifted from him, and he would look stunning beautiful. Not that Bahorel had a crush on him.

Feuilly deserved better than Bahorel. Far better. Still, if Feuilly thought he was attractive enough to shag every now and again Bahorel wasn’t going to complain. Feuilly didn’t have the time for a proper relationship. Hell, Bahorel wasn’t sure if he even wanted one – he himself didn’t – and they worked well together. They both liked the same thing: rough and ready, a lot of biting, a bit of scratching. They even kissed. All teeth and tongue, but that was what they liked. It didn’t mean that Bahorel had a crush. He knew they wouldn’t work as a proper couple, and that was fine. Because he didn’t have a crush.

And yet, despite their differences, they fit together with ease. When Feuilly worked late Bahorel would make him food to come home to, even making enough for him to bring leftovers in for lunch the next day. When Feuilly was stressed he’d grab his headphones and the hoover and go around the apartment listening to music. That way the place got clean (Bahorel avoided hoovering with every fibre of his being) and Feuilly would be relaxed, ready to joke around with Bahorel instead of yelling at him to vent his frustrations that never had anything to do with him. They watched films and played cards and greeted each other when they came home from work. They said goodbye to each other in the morning too, and ate breakfast together, and ate dinner together, and sometimes slept together. Their lives fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle and moved along like clockwork. It took them both a while to realise how much feeling there was in each of their actions towards one another, or what the cause of those feelings were. To his credit, Bahorel had been absolutely right. He didn’t have a crush on Feuilly. No. Not at all. But he was undeniably, completely and irrevocably in love with him. Luckily for him, Feuilly felt the same.


	25. Sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the final battle on June 6th the night was cold and silent. But on the morning of June 7th, the mothers came, and the singing began.

Following the final battle on June 6th the night was cold and silent. Whether out of horror, or fear, or respect, or death, no sound could be made. But on the morning of June 7th, the mothers came, and the singing began. Soft, and gentle and muddled by tears, mothers and sisters and wives began to filter out of their homes with buckets and rags and began to sing, while they cleaned away the blood, and looked for their loved ones. They were old songs that every Frenchman and Frenchwoman knew but which, depending on who sang them and who heard them sung, could sound either patriotic, or defiant, could sound as though they were sung out of love, or out of hate, or a mixture of all of it. Why the singing began no-one will ever quite know. Maybe out of solidarity with the cause, maybe to help them pick up their skits and get on with the hand life had dealt them.

Maybe, most likely I believe, as one final lullaby for mothers to sing to their sons who, although they were already sleeping, still needed comforting in death on their way from this life to the next, just as much as their mothers needed to comfort, one last time, before so many of them came to terms with the fact that they were no longer a mother, but merely another woman, left behind, no longer needed, with too much love that had nowhere to go, and too many tears to weep. And so they sang, and continue to sing, a melancholic song of loss and despair, with just a hint of hopefulness within the words of the song, but which were hidden and buried under the overwhelming grief consuming the women who were singing it, who drew no comfort from the impossible dream of a brighter tomorrow. Only a bitterness and their loss, and their utter wretchedness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the 'Turning' scene


	26. Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the past few weeks Enjolras has been wearing a rather far-away look that has Grantaire concerned. But Enjolras isn't distracted because of anything bad. On the contrary, it's something very good.

Grantaire had been talking for a good few minutes before he looked back up at Enjolras over their food and realised that his boyfriend didn’t look as if he was paying any attention at all to what Grantaire was saying. On the contrary, he was wearing a far-away look, which, Grantaire had begun to notice, had appeared rather frequently over the past few weeks. He tried not to let it bother him, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t concern him, or put seeds of doubt into his mind over what Enjolras could possibly be thinking about.

‘You alright there babe?’ he asked, trying to grab Enjolras’ attention without sounding too put out.

‘Yeah, I’m fine!’

‘You weren’t listening to me at all there were you?’ Enjolras looked at the floor guiltily before looking back up at Grantaire.

‘Sorry, just got a little lost in thought I guess’.

‘Yeah you’ve been doing that a lot lately’, Grantaire said, an edge to his voice this time.

‘I didn’t mean to, honestly’, Enjolras pleaded, ‘I’ve just got a lot on my mind at the moment. Tell me again R, I’ll listen, promise’.

‘Mmmhmm’, Grantaire said sarcastically, picking up his now empty plate and taking it over to the sink.

‘R…’ Enjolras began.

‘Look’, Grantaire interrupted, before breathing out deeply, willing himself not to lose his temper or get emotional, before beginning again, ‘if something’s bothering you this much can’t you just tell me?’

‘It’s not as simple as that’.

‘It bloody well should be!’.

‘Look, it’s not bad. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s nothing bad’, Enjolras said, walking over to Grantaire and putting his arms around him protectively after silently asking his permission with a look. Enjolras knew Grantaire. He knew how he would always think the worst, how his thoughts ran away with him and made him jump to panicked conclusions, no matter how hard he tried not to, and no matter that he knew, realistically, that they wouldn’t be true. Enjolras kissed his forehead.

‘I love you more than anything in the world. No-one could ever come close to you, no-one will ever replace you. You’re absolutely perfect for me and I wouldn’t want anyone else. And I’m so grateful that even with all my flaws you somehow still love me’. Grantaire snorted at that.

‘Unless you’ve cheated on me or murdered someone or something’, he joked, half-heartedly. Enjolras breathed out heavily. He had hoped that if he managed to keep Grantaire grounded then he might reveal what he thought Enjolras’ recent strange behaviour might have been hiding. Enjolras was worried he might have thought that Enjolras had someone else, but listening to his tone now, slightly more light-hearted than before, he was confident that Grantaire had had the chance to take some time and to think logically, and realise that wasn’t the case.

‘You wouldn’t love me anymore if I murdered someone?’ he laughed, pulling back to look at Grantaire incredulously.

‘If you murdered someone who didn’t deserve it’, Grantaire amended.

‘That’s more like it’. Enjolras smiled, and soundly kissed Grantaire on the lips. ‘Marry me?’ he whispered softly, looking into Grantaire’s eyes. The eyes he was looking into widened.

‘That’s what I’ve been anxious about, what I’ve been thinking about’, Enjolras explained. ‘There’s a ring hidden in my bedside table. I have thought about it, this isn’t just a whim, I promise. I love you, and I wanted to think of a great way to ask you, but then you got cross, and sad, and I just wanted to…reassure you?’ Grantaire stepped away from Enjolras, tears threatening in the corner of his eyes and ran both hands through his hair.

‘Well then’, he choked out, ‘you better go and ask me properly then’.

‘What?’ asked Enjolras in shock. For a split second he had been expecting a very different response.

‘Ask me properly’, Grantaire said again, motioning wilding with his hands to shoo Enjolras out of the room. Enjolras took one last look at him before turning on his heel and rushing into their bedroom and crashing about for a minute or so before returning with a small box. When he got back to the kitchen he took a deep breath before getting down on one knee and opening the box. 

‘Grantaire’, he asked, trying to remain as calm and measured as possible, ‘will you marry me?’ Grantaire couldn’t hold back his tears anymore as he said yes, and neither could Enjolras as he placed the ring on Grantaire’s finger and pulled him in for a hug.

‘I should get mad at you more often’ came Grantaire’s muffled voice from where it was buried against Enjolras’ chest.

‘Oh you’ve been madder than that before’, teased Enjolras. ‘You were worried though, which is far scarier. I know you can’t always help it, but I don’t want you to ever worry about whether or not I love you, or how much I love you’.

‘Wow, you’re good’, Grantaire mumbled, knowing that Enjolras had seen through him from the beginning. ‘I love you too by the way’.

‘Thank God for that. Sorry I ended up just kind of, randomly saying it. I wanted it to be really special, but then I wanted to just ask you because you thought something was wrong, but then I worried I’d messed up completely by agonizing over it and making you worry, and I just thought…’ he trailed off, no longer knowing what to say.

‘Were you really that nervous?’ Grantaire asked, surprised. ‘How could you possibly think I wouldn’t say yes?’

‘How could you possibly think I would intentionally do anything to hurt you?’

Grantaire groaned. ‘Touché’, he said eventually, as Enjolras ran his fingers through his hair.

‘It’s ok’, Enjolras said, smiling, and kissing him again. ‘I know you don’t really think I would’. ‘Anyway’, he continued, answering Grantaire’s question, ‘I don’t know, I just really wanted it to be perfect for you’.

‘Don’t worry’, Grantaire reassured him, leaning up for a kiss, ‘It was’.


	27. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combeferre and Courfeyrac get rudely woken up by sunlight coming in through their bedroom window

It was early morning when light began to stream through their bedroom window. Combeferre groaned and turned his head as much as was possible to look at the clock and check the time. 6am. And it was Sunday. ‘Hell no’, he thought, and rolled over to bury his face in the covers. He felt Courfeyrac stir beside him.

‘What’s the time?’ his boyfriend asked sleepily.

‘6am, go back to sleep’, Combeferre replied.

‘Yessir’. 

It had only been a few minutes he felt himself drifting off again before he heard the words: ‘Can’t sleep. Too bright’. Combeferre groaned again, although he probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep for long with the light as it was. He cracked an eye open, and noticed that in their rush the night before they hadn’t drawn the curtains properly, which was why so much light was now being let in. Eventually he scrambled out of bed to pull the curtains to, plunging the room back into darkness, before collapsing back o the bed. Just as he was about to fall asleep again he felt Courfeyrac move closer, manoeuvre Combeferre’s arm across his middle and cuddle into his chest. Combeferre grinned dozily to himself, and nosed Courfeyrac’s curls, pressing a soft kiss there. 

And he fell asleep thinking about how lucky he was in that moment to be sleeping next to a kind, smart, beautiful boy. The love of his life, and the light of it. Lying there now, in the superficial darkness, he knew that there was nowhere he would rather be, nowhere lighter or happier that he could be, than in his bed with Courfeyrac in his arms. There man was like sunshine, perpetually bright and cheery, never had a bad word to say, warm and giving. And Combeferre was absolutely smitten by it. So much so in fact, that Courfeyrac was the only sort of light Combeferre positively did not being woken up, or kept up, by. Even at 6am on a Sunday.


	28. Bare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bahorel thought that there was nothing more beautiful than Feuilly

Bahorel thought that there was nothing more beautiful than Feuilly. He could look at him forever. He was asleep now, and Bahorel’s eyes were raking over his bare skin. His skin was pale, but marked now with hickeys across collarbone and neck, with one on his jaw. A light smattering of ginger hair covered his chest, and the bedsheet was rucked up over his stomach. His arms were slightly more tanned, but still relatively pale, and covered with freckles. There were scratches at the nape of his neck, and Bahorel knew he’s left more on his back. His blue eyes were closed, and his long eyelashes stood out. His lips were slightly parted and his cheeks were flushed beneath the freckles. His ginger curls had fallen down over his forehead. Bahorel just smiled, and drank him in. He snuck a quick photo, making a mental note to show it to Feuilly and ask if he could keep it. 

Because like this, Feuilly wasn’t just stripped of clothing, but of stress, and worry. His face was entirely relaxed, and he looked entirely peaceful, which even Bahorel wasn’t used to seeing. But here he was, laid completely bare in front of him, with no hint of sign of embarrassment or insecurities, content and trusting. Completely at Bahorel’s mercy without fear or hesitation. And it made him look even more beautiful than usual. It was as though, for a moment, in sleeping, the harshness and difficulties of life and adulthood had been swept away, and something akin to the innocence of childhood had momentarily been restored to Feuilly’s expression. This was all gone again in a split second when Feuilly cracked one eye open, mocked Bahorel for staring with a lovelorn expression at him and proceeded to whack him with a pillow when Bahorel began to protest. And then he laughed, and that too was beautiful.

But there was something about Feuilly, asleep, unhampered by the world and putting his faith in Bahorel to wake him if he needed to be woken, that Bahorel found particularly remarkable, and which made him fall a little bit in love every time it happened. Every single time.


	29. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In another time, Grantaire thought, maybe he could have loved Enjolras properly. Loved him the way he deserved to be loved.

In another time, Grantaire thought, maybe he could have loved Enjolras properly. Loved him the way he deserved to be loved. Truly, passionately, devotedly. To show him that he was loved beyond the privacy of their own rooms. To show everyone else that he was loved. Within their own four walls, he could love Enjolras in the way he wanted to, but no-one knew. He could hold him close and kiss him tenderly and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. Or he could bite at his neck and pull his hair and scratch up and down his back. And he could tell him that he loved him whenever the fancy took him. Within those four walls.

But he was tired of a secret love. He longed to hold Enjolras’ hand in the street, to kiss him in the café, to pull him close with an arm around his waist as they walked together in the Luxembourg like other lovers did. He longed to tell the whole world how in love he was. Until such a time as that was possible, he was more than content to love Enjolras just as he had been doing, but still it hurt. And still he hoped.

In the moments before he faced his death, his one thought was to love Enjolras as he ought to be loved. To show him that there was nothing left to lose, for either of them, even if they still had everything to lose, that he loved him, and would shout it from the rooftops. And when Enjolras took his proffered hand and smiled, he knew that had there been more time, he would have kissed him, and that if it had been a different time, that Enjolras would have loved him properly too. And for a wild moment he thought that, should their revolution be documented, maybe their small act of love, barely perceptible to the guards in the heat of the moment, would be seen for what it was, in a different time. And maybe, in that time, people would think, if that were now, everyone would know that they loved each other as they deserved to be loved. Truly, passionately, devotedly. And for a wild moment, he thought that, were he reborn in another time, he would search for Enjolras to the ends of the earth, time and time again. Until he felt he could love him properly. Love him in the way he deserved to be loved. Truly, passionately, devotedly. For everyone to see.


	30. Flag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little drabble about the flags at the barricade and what they symbolise

The light was fading, the bullets running out and the men flagging. As the National Guard stormed and the barricade burst and the revolutionaries bled out, it seemed the time had come. A few bodies, the bodies of those killed in between the attacks, were laid out, with two covered by a tricolour flag. Further bodies were strewn about with no time or men left to lay them out. There they lay, dead or dying were they fell, where no show of honour or respect could be afforded to them. But in their midst were flags that had been held high, tricolours or bright red, now littered with bullet holes and stained with blood. Some scraps of the stemmed wounds in vain, others were merely trampled into the muddy ground. Others would remain trapped in the hands of the dead, held fast by rigor mortis, who had help them aloft as a symbol of their struggle, a banner to march under, a badge of honour – for they had died fighting for those flags. And though they may have lost the battle, the flags, and the fight for France which they represented, lived on in hearts and minds, though their physical form had been destroyed. For there will always be more men, and more fights, and more flags to cover the dead, and to stem wounds, and to hold aloft in defiance until the battles are over and they can fly high above free men and women as a symbol not of loss and a mournful past, but of hope, and of joyful anticipation of the future.


	31. Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire never used to much look forward to the future. But then he had met them.

Grantaire never used to much look forward to the future. There was nothing in it that he could envisage looking forward to. If the present was shitty, why hold out the hope that the future would be any better. But then he had been younger than he was now, and more or less alone in the world. No friends or family to speak of. And no hopes or dreams. But then he had met them. His found family. People who he could talk with, and joke with, and eat or drink with. People he could go out with and who he could share things with and who wanted him there with them. And they all believed in things, and had hopes and dreams. And although Grantaire didn’t believe in all their far-reaching dreams and high hopes, they had still given him something to believe in. Something to look forward to. A future with people he could picture himself being friends with for the rest of his life. 

And then there was Enjolras. And for the first time he had someone to really call his own, who he could kiss and tell secrets about himself to that no-one else knew. Someone who could comfort him, and love him for who he was, and stick by him through everything that came their way. First a friend, then a boyfriend and soon, Grantaire hoped, maybe something more. With Enjolras by his side the future was bright, and for the first time in a long time he was looking forward to it, and to all the things they would do and that they might achieve together. For the first time in a long time, Grantaire’s future seemed as bright as his past was dark. And wasn’t that just something. Unexpected, but not unpleasantly so. Grantaire didn’t know what he had done to deserve it, but he was thankful for it. Somewhere along the way his friends had turned a cynic into a believer. They had created their own future and given Grantaire a place in it. And this time, he wasn’t going to let it slip away.


End file.
